


I’m Tired Of Feeling Like I’m Fucking Crazy

by Mizackles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Epic Love, M/M, Man Pain, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizackles/pseuds/Mizackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean feels consumed by the Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m Tired Of Feeling Like I’m Fucking Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title taken from the Lana Del Rey song "Ride"
> 
> I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy  
> I'm tired of driving 'til I see stars in my eyes  
> It's all I've got to keep myself sane, baby  
> So I just ride, I just ride
> 
> Unbeta'd
> 
> Set after S9 SPN ep 18

It's taken over his every waking thought. Laying in bed he can't close his eyes without feeling it's ever present throbbing. It seems to be in a duet with his heart. So it's a constant beat, a litany of _thump_ , _throb_... _thump_ , _throb_. It echoes through his skull.

In the morning washing the breakfast dishes he can barely focus. Sam's chatter behind him fades into the background taken over by the only thing he seems to know these days.. _.thump_ , _throb_.. _.thump_ , _throb_.

He's sitting at the table later trying to at least look like he is researching, to be useful, to be productive. But it's no matter as his head can't fit anymore inside of it other than that rhythm of _thump_ , _throb_.

He goes down to the bunker's garage to work on his baby, hoping to lose himself in something he loves, hoping to clear his mind. He runs his hand over her hood, tries to absorb some of her essence. She's always been able to calm him before, to center him. But this time she fails...the pain is still there, burning and pulsating. Like it is taunting him. His heart is working double time, as if it can't pump his blood fast enough. _Thump_ , _throb_... _thump_ , _throb_. He feels like he is going insane.

He grabs his keys like a lifeline and takes baby out on the road to try and outrun the _thump_ , _throb_. Maybe the open road will calm him, maybe the fresh air will soothe him. This never ending feeling of burning and tightness in his chest is consuming him whole. The relief he craves does not come like he had hoped. It crushes him, pulls him further down. A desperate feeling of no escape, no hope, no freedom. He feels crazed, and alone. A sob catches in his throat, but he won't allow it to escape. He strikes the steering wheel, clenches his jaw to keep the emotions in. The _thump,_ _throb_ never abating, just continuing on like it has always been there, has always been a part of him. He wants to scream, but he holds that in also. His foot goes heavy on the gas, pushing baby without even realising he is doing it. Eaten up fully by the thumping, the throbbing. Will it ever stop?

Just when he thinks that he will literally explode with his next breath he feels a flutter against his cheek and suddenly a hand covers his own gripped knuckled white on the steering wheel. He gasps and glances over to the passenger side, though he already knows who it will be and he can't stop that sob from finally escaping. They lock eyes, speaking to each other with no words. He pulls over.

The hand moves from his own hand to his face. It cups his stubbled cheek, the thumb rasping over it. He closes his eyes, leaning into the cool touch, his mouth open. He tries to hold back his tears, but a few leak out anyway under his long lashes, making their way down his neck. He realises the _thump_ , _throb_ already isn't as loud in his ears anymore. He takes a hitched breath, then another, filling his chest.

They look at each other again. Before he can say anything the other speaks, "Dean. You are not alone. Your burdens are my burdens. Let me help you. Let me be there for you."

You know it is useless, as even though the _thump_ , _throb_ has lessened it is still there none the less just waiting to spring forth again and claim you fully once and for all. But you find yourself answering anyway, "Cas." That one word meaning a million different things, not just a nickname. You take this one moment in time to breathe freely, to be, to know you are not alone, that he has got you. You sigh and nod against his palm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know at this point Cas cannot fly, what with his borrowed grace...but for the sake of this story he does have the use of his wings.


End file.
